The End of The Line
by Laura013
Summary: What usually brings Sam and Dean Winchester to a case is a dead body, right? Well, what happens when the spirits of all the first killed are summoned by a certain demon to haunt them? (Theoretical) Season 10/Series finale, told in 5 parts. Please give this a chance and follow/favorite
1. Part 1

**Disclaimer:** Nope. Supernatural isn't mine. Hopefully Kripke won't mind if I borrow them for a few (just three chapters *puppy eyes*)

* * *

"Sammy," a voice says. "Sammy, wake up!"

As Sam Winchester opens his heavy eyelids, the blurry face of his older brother, Dean, stares back at him. He blinks and sits up.

"What, Dean?"

Dean sits across from his younger brother, eyes closed, hunched over a small black plastic device.

"Homicide came over the radio early this morning," Dean says uncomfortably. "Sounds like our kind of thing."

Sam frowns; blinking the sleep from his eyes a few more times. "What do you mean, _our kind of thing_?"

Looking down at his feet, Dean answered, "Well, victim was found in her car, head spun 360 degrees, the only sign of forced entry was a word, written across her collarbone in an unidentified substance." Dean grimaces slightly, and if Sam wasn't mistaken, he sees a flash of pain in his brother's eyes. "Described as a 'tar-like black goo that reeked of sulfur,'"

Sam immediately sobers. "What did it say?"

"Winchester."

* * *

When they finally arrived in Jericho, California, it was _not_ a pretty sight. Not much was known about the woman, except that her name was Cate Squire, she was twenty-six years old, former military, and that she was more scared at the moment of her death than a four-year-old who finds a monster under their bed.

Dean and Sam teetered uncomfortably, eyes glued to their own name branded on her.

"Think it's a haunting?" Sam asks, looking down at his brother. Dean's eyes are dull.

"Yep," he says, not looking up at his brother.

A loud cough behind them causes both of the brothers to turn around, jumping at the sound. The two boys turn to face an old man.

"Sheriff Pierce," the man says, extending his hand gruffly, "and you are?"

Dean swallows uncomfortably. Not taking the man's hand, he pulls his badge out of his blazer pocket. Sam does the same. "Agents Henley and Jones. We're here investigating the murder of Cate Squire."

"Yeah," Sheriff Pierce says. "Real tragedy. First her broth'r, now her. Dad's a real wreck now."

Dean and Sam exchange looks. "Her brother?" Sam asks, frowning.

The sheriff rolls his eyes. "Yeah. Brother. Troy Squire. Mysteriously disappeared ten years ago, never found. Don't you guys know about this already, being FBI an' all?"

"Yeah," Dean affirms. "We were going to visit Mr. Squire now, Sheriff."

The sheriff nods, clearly not entirely believing the two boys. "Do I know you from somewhere, Agent Henley? You look really familiar."

Dean closes his eyes, thinking for a moment. _Troy Squire, Troy Squire,_ he thinks to himself, _where have I heard that before?_ Suddenly, Dean remembers._ Aw, hell. _

"No," Dean says, a little to quickly for Sam's taste. "I don't think we have met before." Dean looks at his watch. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Agent Jones and I were about to be on our way," he says, sending a pointed glare towards his brother.

The sheriff smirks and walks off.

"What the hell, Dean? He could have given us some real insight!" Sam whispers, voice hushed.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Dude. Does the name _Troy Squire_ sound at _all_ familiar to you?" At Sam's blank face, Dean shakes his head. "Constance Welsh. Woman in White. Nine years ago!"

Suddenly, Sam's eyes widen. "Oh, God. Was that…" his voice trails off.

Dean takes a deep, sharp breath. "Five-o," he mumbles. "What do you think? Brother gank his sis?"

Sam nods. "But why?"

"I don't know. But we gotta find out."

* * *

Sam and Dean stay in the town for a few more days, and they question the father, Amy Hein (who had lost the heavy eyeliner and hair streaks, and exchanged them for a husband and a one-year-old), Cate's longtime boyfriend, as well as many of Troy and Cate's friends. But yet, nothing turned up.

"So get this," Sam says, sitting down on the motel bed. Irony is, they were in the same room as they had been nine years ago, and there were still little bits of salt stuck behind the bed.

"Yeah," Dean asks gruffly, sitting on the bed opposite his younger brother. "What gives?"

Sam sighs, turning the laptop and showing Dean a photo of an old forest. "Some kids were playing in the woods few weeks back, and they found a bloody necklace. DNA results matched to Troy Squire."

"Great," Dean exclaims. "We salt and burn it, and the son of a bitch goes bye-bye."

Sam sighs. "Not that easy. See, problem is, it was stolen from the police station. Wanna guess when?"

"Night of sister's death," Dean says, looking down at his feet. Sam nods. "Well, damn," Dean says angrily. "Now they're mobile."

"Yep," Sam says dejectedly, thinking back to the time that Bobby stole the flask and snuck into Roman Industries. "So what now?"

"Salt and burn the sis, and keep on moving. He's gotta have motive somewhere. Maybe… I don't know," Dean says, looking down. "I don't know why he's rising, I don't know why he's doing this, I don't even know if it's _him_ for cryin' out loud! It's only a hunch!"

"But there's no one else dead in her family. No one else who has had contact with the _Winchesters_ that she knows are dead! Dean, it's obviously him and it obviously is involved with us. I know you like to think that we save more than we kill, that we're heroes, but open your eyes, Dean!" Suddenly, Sam was cut off by the police scanner.

_"187 near Lost Creek Trail, Blackwater Ridge, Colorado. Special circumstances, serial message left with unidentified subject. 11-10." _

Dean paled. "Wendigo," he mumbles, remembering the incident with Tommy Collins from nine years ago.

Sam immediately picks up the radio. "10-4," he says superficially into the speaker, letting them know he's taking care of it, and a beep answers him, saying his message was received.

"Let's go."

* * *

For most of the ride, the boys sit in silence. But, as they cross the Colorado state border, Sam has an idea.

"Dean, where were some of the big cases that you and Dad worked while I was in Stanford?" he asks, pulling his laptop out of his bag.

"Uh, we got a werewolf coven in Toledo, a rugaru in Stoneridge, a skinwalker in Fallbrook, a shtriga in New Orleans—"

"Okay, Dean, that's enough," Sam says, motioning his brother silent. Dean rolls his eyes and turns back to the wheel.

Sam takes a deep breath. "One in Boulder?" he asks.

Dean nods. "Djinn," he says, a hint of pride in his voice.

"Graceville?"

Dean frowns, nodding. "Ghoul," he mumbles.

"Oh, God. Dean, there are _hundreds_ of these. It's something of a mystery to the feds. Callin' him the 'Teardrop Killer' because he's evaded them for _ten_ years, leaving only—"

"A single black tear, down the cheek," Dean finishes.

"Yeah," Sam says, looking dismayed. "And you say you've worked cases in all of these places?"

"Yeah."

"Dean, what do we do?" Sam asks.

Dean sighs. "I don't know. I guess… I guess we head to Blackwater Ridge. Start there," he says reluctantly.

"Okay."

* * *

After a few minutes, Sam falls asleep in the passenger seat. In his dream, he's back in Hell. The faces, the ghosts that he knew surround him, everyone he loves is taking a swing, and Sam is begging for them to stop. He finds himself sobbing, pleading like a child, just hoping and _hoping_ his father will stop.

"You were the accident, the _mistake_ that was _never_ supposed to be born!" his dad snaps, swinging the belt, hitting Sam across the chest. Now, Sam Winchester has taken a _lot_ of crap in his life, and not just from his dad. He's been shot, been to Hell, Purgatory, been personally tortured by more demons than he cares to count, Lucifer himself included. But this belt, this belt, not made of spikes, or poison, or anything lethal, just the leather belt, was what broke him.

This was the side of himself that Sam prefers to hide from Dean. He's seen what Hell did to his brother. Hell _broke_ Dean. So, when Sam went to Hell, he knew how much it hurt his brother to know that he was in there for one _hundred_ years. One _hundred_ years of torture, not from Alastair, but from _Lucifer_. If 4 months of classic Hell broke Dean, who knows what a year of cage Hell did to Sam. Because, as much as Sam needed someone to talk to about what happened down there, he knew how guilty his brother felt about leaving him down there. He knew he couldn't add to the pile of misery that was Dean Winchester.

So Sam keeps quiet. Plays it off that he couldn't really remember, that it was kind of hazy. Of course, at first, this was true, but sometime while Sam was in Purgatory, the memories came back, sharp and clear. And they hurt more than anything.

"Dean was a good son. Dean was _loyal_. Dean actually _cared_ about family. You were just the selfish little brat that was never meant to exist." John takes another swing, but a hand catches his.

"Now, now, John, there's no reason to damage the meat. Not before the big finish, anyway," a new voice says. Sam may not have been able to see the face, but he knew that voice better than anything. A burning fury filled his veins, giving him the strength to speak strongly again.

"Azazel," he spits, hazel eyes coming into contact with yellow.

The elder demon smiles. "Hello, Sam. It's so good to see you again."

Suddenly, the faces surrounding them are gone, and it's just Sam and Azazel, face to face.

"What do you mean, 'big finish'?" Sam asks, trying to keep his head straight.

Azazel chuckles softly. "Now, Sam, I need you to listen, and I need you to listen closely. Okay? When you wake up, I want you to give your big brother a message for me. I want you to _tell_ him that I'm coming, 'kay? Can you do that for me, Sam? Can you tell him I'll be there soon?"

Sam goes extremely pale, his eyes wide. Azazel simply laughs, and all goes black.


	2. Part 2

**Disclaimer:** *Still* not mine. Sorry to disappoint.

* * *

Dean pulls over the second he hears the yelp of fear. He sits there, on the side of the road in the ass crack of California, shaking the bloody hell out of his brother who just won't wake up.

"Sammy," he says. "Sammy!"

And yet, the tall man won't wake up.

Dean's face falls to his hand as blood begins to run from Sam's lips, and he whispers a word he hasn't said in so long.

"Cas." He says it so quietly that even Sam wouldn't have been able to hear him, were he conscious, but Castiel still appears in the backseat of the 1967 Chevrolet Impala.

Castiel's blue eyes stare into Dean's so intensely that Dean squirms uncomfortably in his seat. "What do you need, Dean?" he asked sincerely, eyes searching.

"Wake him up," Dean says softly. "Wake my brother up."

"As you wish."

Castiel placed two fingers on Sam's forehead, closing his eyes and being engulfed by light.

"AZAZEL!" Sam yelled, sitting up straight in his seat and punching Dean in the jaw.

Dean chuckled dryly. "Woah there, kiddo. It's _Dean_. Not Azazel," he says, thinking about the yellow eyed demon who hadn't crossed his mind in so long. "Still get nightmares about that son of a bitch?"

Sam frowns. "I was having a nightmare?"

"Yeah, bad one too," Dean says.

"Felt more like one of my prophetic dreams," Sam mumbles.

Dean sighs and turns around to thank Cas, but the angel is already gone. He rolls his eyes and starts driving.

After a few minutes of silence, Dean interjects, "Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really," Sam says, looking down, "but I suppose I should."

Dean pretends to check the rear-view mirror, but really, he's avoiding his brother's eyes. After the whole Gadreel-possession-thing, their relationship just hadn't been the same. There was always a sort of tension between them, like Sam was still hiding something from him.

"Okay," Dean says, still looking in the mirror, "shoot."

Sam looks down, taking a deep breath. "Well, I was in Hell. And Dad was there. And he was my torturer for the night. Strange thing was, I have this dream a lot. But then… it changed. It felt so much more vivid, a lot like the dreams I used to have back when I was hopped up on demon blood, you know? The prophetic ones? And Azazel was there…"

Dean frowns, still not making eye contact with his brother. _That's how Sammy views Dad? A torturer?_

"He, uh, he told me something about a finale or something," he says, scratching his head behind his left ear, "ah, I think he called it the 'big finish', but since Dad was hackin' at my leg with a knife, I wasn't really too clear on the details. Uh, and he told me to tell you something."

"What?" Dean asks, looking at his brother for a moment.

Sam looks down again, a somber look on his face. "He wanted me to tell you that he was coming. That he would be here soon."

Dean gulps and turns back to the road, making the turn off into Blackwater Ridge.

* * *

They didn't stay long, maybe three days at most, only long enough to do the checks and burn the bodies, and they were off again, the only sign of them being there was the message, 'Winchester' again.

"So, Dean, where did we go next? Maybe we can stop them before they kill again," Sam says, turning to face his brother in the passenger seat. Sam had insisted on driving, saying that Dean had already driven for so long.

Dean frowns. "Uh, Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin. Venegeful spirit. I think the spirit we're looking for's named Sophie Carlton."

Sam nods. "Kay."

They drive as fast as they can for Wisconsin, but as they cross the Colorado border, the police radio buzzes.

_"187 near Palo Alto, California. Special circumstances, serial message left with unidentified subject. 11-10." _

The message was exactly the same as the last one, except a location change.

"We didn't work a case in Stanford," Dean muses, but Sam doesn't hear him.

Instead, the youngest Winchester, stony faced and jaw clenched, makes an intense 180 U-turn, driving towards Stanford. His eyes are wide and dull, and his knuckles are clenched white around the steering wheel as they reach 90 MPH.

"What?" Dean asks, looking at his brother. "Who? Did Dad…" his voice trails off. _"Oh,_" he says.

Jessica Moore.

* * *

Not long later, the boys are in Stanford, at their own dorms. A man lies on the ground, the word 'Coming' carved in his chest in black goo and blood, surrounded by a sea of uniforms and yellow tape.

"Who—" Dean asks, but Sam cuts him off.

"Jason Moore. Jessica's brother."

Someone coughed behind them. "That's correct," a woman says. "The vic did have a sister names Jessica. How did you know that?" she asks.

"Uh, I went to college with her, long time ago. Such a tragedy, first her death, now his," Sam says stonily, teeth clenched around the inside of his cheek, keeping the emotion from flooding through.

The woman grimaces. "Who are you?" she asks.

"Agent Anderson, FBI. This is my partner, Agent Hale," Sam says, gesturing to his brother. "And you are?"

"Detective Travers, Palo Alto Police Department," she says, flashing a badge. "I suppose you want us to clear out?"

Sam is about to agree, when Dean buts in. "No, we could really use your insight. Got any suspects so far?" he asks. Sam steps on his foot, and Dean glares at him.

"Well," Detective Travers says, "personally, I'd say it's the sister's boyfriend, Sam Winchester. Y'know, the Satanist? I think he and his brother are back at it."

Sam grimaces. "I thought he was killed, in the helicopter fire."

"Well, yeah, but I mean, _right_ after his death, the agent on his case is killed? It's a little suspicious," she says.

Dean sighs. "Well, we found the bodies and matched the DNA, so it's kind of a long shot."

"Whatever you say, Agent," she says, putting her hands up and shaking her head with a light laugh. "It's your world."

Sam curtly nods as she walks out.

"So, what do you think?" Dean asks.

Sam closes his eyes. "I think I agree with the detective. I think it's the Winchester brothers," he says softly, and he walks out, followed by his brother.

* * *

That night, the two boys settle into the motel, and Dean immediately gets into his bed, but Sam doesn't. Instead, the youngest Winchester sits on the windowsill, looking at his feet.

"What's wrong, Sammy?" Dean asks. "You can talk to me."

Sam flashes a half smile at his brother, keeping his eyes on the ground.

"What?" Dean asks. "Did I do something? Did I _say_ something that pissed you off somehow?"

Now Sam's laughing. He looks up. "You know what? You did! You did say something that I wish you hadn't!" he flames.

Dean snorts. "Well what? What did I say?"

"'Dad's on a hunting trip, and he hasn't been home in a few days,'" Sam yells loudly.

"What the _hell_ are you implying?" Dean asks, eyes cold.

Sam, however, is on fire. "I wish you had NEVER found me in Stanford. I wish you had just let it _be._ Just let me live my _life_ and maybe _she_ would still be ALIVE! Did you ever think of _that?_" Sam asks with a laugh. "No, you probably didn't, because you've never had to worry about someone like that. Never had someone so innocent and kind in your life, someone you really had to protect that you _lost,_ Dean. So don't even _try_ to put yourself in my shoes, because you _can't_!"

"Lisa Braeden," Dean says quietly. "And her son, Ben. You remember them, Sam? You aren't the only one who's _lost_ people, so why don't you get your head out of your _ass_ and start _helping_ here?"

"That was your _choice,_ Dean," Sam says angrily. "You _chose_ to let them go so that you could _hunt_ again. I _chose_ Jess, okay? I _chose_ her, and _still _you ripped her from me!"

Suddenly, the fire died. "I am sorry, Sam," he says sincerely. "I am so sorry that it happened to you, that you lost her. I didn't know you still blamed me for that, and for that, I am truly sorry. Why don't we get some sleep, and we can talk in the morning."

Sam looks at his brother, eyes dull. "Fine," he says coldly, and in that moment, Dean feared the cool, calculated Sam more than he had ever feared his hot-headed little brother.

But all Sam does is get in his bed and fall asleep. Dean closes his eyes, listening to the sharp, almost painful sounding breaths of his brother until he falls asleep himself.

* * *

Sam doesn't dream of Azazel that night. Oh no. That night, he dreams of Jess.

He's lying alone in the dark, back in his apartment in Stanford, when suddenly, a heat so intense engulfs him, and Jess is on the ceiling, staring back at him.

"JESS!" he yells, reaching up to her, determined not to let her burn this time.

"Go," she chokes out. "Back where it all began."

And then it goes black, and the next thing he hears is Dean's pleads to wake up.

So he does.

He sits up, hitting his head on Dean's forearm as his older brother shakes the mercy out of him yet again.

"I know where Azazel is."


	3. Part 3

**A/N:** I'm changing it from 3 parts to 5, because I just can't get it all in 3 chapters. Sorry.

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own the Supernatural series

* * *

"Okay, what the hell are you talking about, home?" Dean asks, as soon as the boys settle down. "You mean Lawrence?"

Sam takes a deep breath, fiddling with one of the buttons on his laptop. "Look at these reports. Disappearance rates within a one hundred-mile radius of Lawrence are through the roof, high. Most schools in the area have been shut down, fearing the mystery kidnapper. Dean, where else would he go? It's where it all began, it's where it all ends."

Sam's final line leaves Dean with a chilling feeling. _It's where it all ends…_ It almost sounds like he is talking about the final end, death.

"Okay, so we head for Lawrence, but then what? Do we just wait for him to knock on the motel door?" Dean says sarcastically, but really, he's terrified. He's scared out of his mind for what Azazel has in store, but really, he's scared of how far Sam will go to avenge his sorrows. Will he put himself in danger? Kill himself to save her?

"I'm not sure," Sam says, frowning as he reads something on his laptop. Dean grabs the screen, filling it with fingerprints that involuntarily make Sam cringe. He reads along. "Gasoline shortages," Sam says.

"Like… fire," Dean finished.

Sam grimaces. "Yeah. Like enough fire to burn down a city."

* * *

Within ten minutes, the Impala is back on the road.

* * *

"Dean, I think I found something," Sam says as they pull off the freeway.

Dean sniffles a little. "What you got?" he asks.

"So get this," Sam begins, and Dean groans a little. "This isn't the first time that fire has been used to purge the world." He takes a deep breath, as though he were going to read a long passage. " '_I will hand you over to ravaging men, artisans of destruction. You shall be fuel for the fire, your blood shall flow throughout the land. You shall not be remembered, for I, the LORD, have spoken.'_ Ezekiel 21:33-37," Sam finishes, frowning.

"Jesus Christ," Dean says, after a moment. "So, _He's,_" Dean says, gesturing towards the Heavens, "condoning this?"

"That's what Ezekiel says," Sam answers sarcastically, laughing at the humor of Azazel's chosen name.

Dean grimaces. "Yeah, okay. So, what do we do?"

"We stop it. By any means necessary."

* * *

"Castiel, I pray that you come and explain your feathery ass to us," Dean says sarcastically, pacing around the Lawrence motel room, and immediately, the angel is behind him.

"Dean."

Sam lets out a breath. "Cas," Dean starts, but Sam cuts him off.

"What the hell is happening up there?" he asks, a great frown growing on his face.

Castiel grimaces a little. "Heaven has been… hard to put back together. Metatron left some pretty big cracks, and they aren't easy to fill."

"Yeah," Dean says sarcastically, "well we need you. Something's happening."

"What is it? Another apocalypse?"

"Maybe."

* * *

After going over every last detail of the case with Cas, the brothers finally turn to him for answers.

"I don't know, Dean…" he trails.

Dean sighs audibly. "Cas, we need your help. Azazel is going to kill, and it's going to be damn soon, and we don't know how big. It could be the town, the state, hell, even the whole world, but it's _our_ job to stop it, and we can't do it without you."

"It… well it appears to me that the Lord condones this. And His word is law, Dean. And it is my job to obey and uphold that law," Cas says simply, looking down at Dean.

Dean's eyes follow the angel, until a fire erupts again. "You can't _possibly_ say that, Cas. You would commit murder, you would let thousands of innocent people _die,_ just because your deadbeat dad says so?"

"Wouldn't you?" Castiel responds sharply.

Dean turns to face his brother, and a fluttering wind hits his back.

"Damn it!" Dean calls out, growling after the angel.

But he was gone.

* * *

"Dean," Sam says, stretching out his name as he's distracted by his screen.

Dean skips out of the bathroom, the noise of the toilet echoing as he says, "What?"

"I think I know when it's happening," Sam says. "Reconstruction in our neighborhood, starting next week. Dean, they're tearing down our childhood home and building an apartment."

Dean sighs. "Well, what do we do?"

"I think I have an idea," Sam supplies. "Just give me ten minutes."

* * *

After a lot longer than ten minutes, two beer runs, and very little sleep, Sam Winchester came up with a theory.

"ROSIE HOLT," he calls aloud, causing his brother to jump.

"Who?" Dean asks.

Sam turns around, causing the chair to make an awful scooting noise. "Do you remember, about nine or ten years ago, when we saved that mom from being burned like our mom was?"

Dean nods, frowning and leaning in.

"Well her daughter, Rosie, as in, Rosie-who-almost-got-high-on-demon-blood, just made the Lawrence Elementary School All Star Soccer Team," he says, turning the computer to show Dean the news article.

"I thought they lived in Illinois," Dean mumbles.

"Apparently they moved," Sam says, frowning. "Either way, it can't be a coincidence."

Dean sighs. "No. It can't."

* * *

Sam straightens his tie, teetering from foot to foot as he stood on the doorstep. The word _Welcome_ spreads across the Holt doormat under his toes. He raises his fingers, clenching them into a fist as he knocks on the door.

Immediately, a middle aged brunette woman that he recognizes as Monica Holt answers the door.

"Hi, I'm Agent—"

Monica instantly cuts him off. "Sam!" she exclaims.

Sam frowns. "You remember me?"

"Of _course_ I do," she assures. "You saved my daughter," she says, wrapping her arm around a young, blonde girl in a blue soccer uniform. The girl smiles at Sam, waving her hand, and instantly, a flash of yellow flashes through Sam's mind.

"Is this—is this Rosie?" Sam asks, gesturing toward the girl.

Monica snuggles the girl against her hip. "Yeah. Say hi to the nice man, Rosie."

"Hi, nice man," she says, extending her hand.

Sam smiles and takes it in his own. "Hi."

Monica giggles. "Pardon my manners, would you like to come in for a cup of coffee? You know, for old times sake?"

Sam frowns a little, not expecting such hospitality. "Yeah, sure. Sounds… great. Just, uh, let me call my brother and let him know I'll be a little late."

Sam steps off the patio, when he sees something interesting. Rosie's sitting on the oak-wood coffee table by the door, reading from a book. Sam recognises the cover as a high-school level math book.

He walks up to the door, sticking his head in. "What're you reading there?"

"Trigonometry," she says nonchalantly.

Sam frowns. "You usually read 12th grade math books, Rosie?"

She looks up at him with a smile. "I like math."

"Oh," Sam says, chuckling.

Sam stumbles down the hallway a little, forgetting all about calling Dean. He looks at the Holt's little white fridge, and he sees three photos pinned behind rainbow-coloured magnetic letters. The first is Rosie's school yearbook, the words 'Lawrence Elementary' printed on the bottom. The second is a photo of Rosie, Monica, Charlie, and a two-year-old boy on Monica's hip. The third is of Rosie's report card.

"Wow," Sam says, turning to face Monica, who's washing out a mug in the sink. "All straight A's this semester," he remarks.

She smiles, setting down the mug. "Yeah. She's brilliant," she remarks, leaning against the fridge next to Sam. "Straight A's, star of the soccer team, she's never even played before this week. I'm a real lucky mom," she says.

"So, where's Charlie?" he asks.

Monica blinks. "Ah, he's, uh, he's passed on."

"I'm so sorry to hear that. When did it happen?"

"Um, it was about a year after you and Dean left. We were still in Salvation, and the four of us—me, Charlie, Rosie, and little John, that is—we we're going to the park, on a Sunday afternoon, when a bus hit our car. Took out the whole right side, that being where Charlie and John were sitting." Suddenly, Monica starts weeping. "The cops say they died painlessly," she mumbles, and Sam hugs her.

"I'm really sorry, Monica."

She weeps. "Yeah, me too. We moved around for a while, living in different places, 'till about a year ago we settled in a small town in Kansas called Lebanon, not too far from here."

Sam frowns. _The Men of Letters bunker… it used to be in Lebanon. Until it blew up._

"A year ago," he mumbles, remembering the night when he and Gadreel faced off, resulting in the explosion of the bunker.

"Yeah, why?"

"Nothing," he mumbles, "go on."

"Well, uh, there was this huge explosion, after a gas main went up, and we drove from town to town for a bit, when I saw this house up for listing."

Suddenly, Rosie comes running down the hall. "Mommy, it's time for my first game!"

"Oh," Monica says, blushing. "I forgot, it's game Sunday. I, uh, I gotta go." She smiles, "I don't suppose… I don't suppose you wanna come?"

"Yeah," Sam says, smiling. "Should Dean meet us there?"

"Sounds fantastic."

* * *

"Dean, she's one of us. One of the special children. I'm sure of it."

Dean frowns, stretching out in the drivers seat of the Impala. "How can you be sure?"

"Azazel said he's looking for the strongest and brightest. Well, she's sure as hell bright. Straight A's in school, and she does high school level tutoring. And she's strong. I mean, for a girl who's never played before? How could she be a star this quickly?"

"I dunno."

* * *

Sam and Dean stick around for Rosie's soccer game. Nothing major happens, at least, not until the end.

There's one minute left in the game, and Lawrence Elementary is one point down. Rosie's dribbling the ball down the field, but this girl is on her tail. The girl must be at least 5'5, and weighs probably about 200 pounds. There's no way Rosie can shake her off.

Until the girl suddenly goes flying. Six feet back, she hits the ground with a loud 'thud.' And Rosie kicks the game-winning score.

"Okay," Dean admits. "Maybe this merits checking out a little."


	4. Part 4

**Disclaimer:** Mm-mm. Nope.

* * *

Once the boys get back to the motel room, Dean plunks down on his bed, and Sam sits by his computer.

"So we know who it is," he says. "Azazel. We know what he's doing and how. Well, sort of. We know he's going to burn, but we don't know what, and we don't know how. And we know he's going to use Rosie somehow."

"A leader," Dean interjects. "That's why he was creating the special children, right? To find a leader."

"Well, yeah, but I thought that Hell was in shambles, y'know, after Crowley and Abaddon."

Dean closes his eyes, remembering the night. When he shoved the blade into Abaddon's stomach, he felt the bone disintegrate, resulting in a mass explosion. They had found Crowley with a shard of bone in his throat.

"I think he's trying to reclaim the throne that was his all along," Dean says, the tone of his voice raising with sudden excitement, "Lilith, Lucifer, Crowley, Abaddon, all of it was just distractions for us. The Winchesters have hunted the nasties for generations, but there are other hunters out there who could have dealt with those people. Sure, we were destined to live out like Cain and Abel, like Michael and Lucifer, but screw destiny, screw it up its ass. Azazel, he was _ours._ He was the reason we got into the business. He is our fight." Dean's sitting up now, a strange light on his face that's scaring Sam a little. "This is the final fight, Sam. With the one we were always meant to kill."

Sam sits back in his chair a little, frowning. He poises the obvious question, "But didn't we already kill him?"

"We didn't kill all of his special children. He must have some way to reincarnate himself through them."

Sam frowns, continuing. "That's what's puzzling me," he says. "Why would he use Rosie? I mean she's still in grade school. I'm older. I'm stronger. I'm more experienced. Why her?"

"Well, to be frank, it's because she's younger. I mean, you've been through a lot, Sammy. You've been to Hell, Heaven, Purgatory, you've been possessed by multiple demons, angels, and all the like. Your resources have been exhausted to the point of no return. You don't even have your psychic powers anymore."

"Well, we thought I didn't. But last week…"

Sam's voice trails off as suddenly, a loud whirring begins to go off in Dean's jacket pocket.

"Dean," Sam says, "your ass is ringing."

Dean jumps, the vibrating alerting him. "Gah," he says, pulling the EMF detector out of his pocket. All of the little lights on the top were lit up and it was making a noise louder than either of the boys had ever heard before. At the same time, Sam's phone started ringing.

"Hello?" he asked, picking up the phone. After a pause, he says, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, Monica. Hold on." Another pause. "What's happening?" Pause. "What?" Pause. "Just hold on, okay? Keep her in the house, Dean and I are coming, okay? Just hold on."

Sam slams the phone down, grabbing a gun off the table. "Get dressed, Dean?"

"What's happening?" Dean asks, grabbing his green shirt. "What's going on?"

"It's Rosie."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Sam and Dean pound on the Holt's doorway. Before the door opens, they hear a young voice yell, "Mommy, it's the nice man and his brother!"

"How the hell did she know—"

Dean is interrupted by the door opening. "Oh thank God," she says, widening the door so the two boys can step in.

The boys step inside, peering around the empty hallways. Rosie lies with her face pressed into a pillow, and they hear, "Hi nice men!" come muffled out of her mouth.

Monica bites her lip, leading them into the kitchen. The boys sit down at the table, Dean immediately leaning back, while Sam sits upright.

"Can I get you anything? Coffee?"

Sam is about to shake his head when Dean interrupts him and says, "Yes please."

Monica goes to put the coffee on when Sam says, "So tell me what's wrong, Monica."

Monica sighs, putting down the two empty mugs, and she sits down across from him. "Uh, it was about an hour ago. I usually pick Rosie up from school and get the mail, and when I got there, she, uh, well she looked at the mail in my hands and she apologised."

"Why?" Dean asks.

"I didn't know, at first, so I ignored it, but when I got home, it was a letter from my mother, telling me that my dad had been in an accident at work," she says, looking down at her lap. "He's fine, of course, but he injured himself pretty bad."

Dean frowns. "How did she—"

"I don't know. I had put it up to coincidence, so I turned on the cartoons, like I usually do. But Rosie told me to turn on the news," she says.

Dean scowls. "So?"

"Ah," she says, "they were doing a cover piece about the demolition of some old neighborhood. I don't know why she was interested, but she made me leave it on. But that's not the interesting part. When I brought her her dinner, she… she read my mind, Sam. I know it's weird, but I was about to ask her how her day went, and she just said, 'Good'. I hadn't even _asked_ yet. Again, I tried to ignore it, but then her teacher called. Said she was blurting out answers to questions that she hadn't given them yet. That's when I called you."

Dean turns toward Sam, but the bigger man is lost in thought.

Dean and Monica continue to chat when Sam interrupts them.

"Dean, can we have a word outside?" he asks. Before he gets a response, he stands up and heads for the door.

As he walks down the wooden hallway, Rosie stares at him from where she is now sitting. They maintain eye contact for a minute, when Sam shakes his head and goes outside, followed by Dean. Before he closes the door, he hears Rosie say to her mother, "I don't think the nice man is very nice, Mommy. He doesn't seem very nice at all."

Sam closes the door quietly, turning to face his brother. "When I first met Monica, she said that Rosie would just stare at people, never cry. She said, 'I swear it's like she's reading your mind.'"

Dean frowns. "So that's her power? What about the girl at the soccer match?"

"Well, remember how I moved the bookcase when we met Max Miller? And how Jake almost made Ellen shoot herself? What if it's like that?"

"I don't know, Sam. But I'm nervous. I mean, that neighborhood, with the reconstruction. That was _our_ neighborhood, Sam." Dean hesitates. "What if… what if the only way to end this is killing her…"

Sam shakes his head. "No. We aren't going to kill an innocent girl."

"Well, she's innocent now. But what about when she burns down the world? Will she be innocent then?" Dean asks.

"I don't know, Dean," Sam says. "I don't know."

That night, Dean falls into a laborious slumber faster than Sleeping Beauty (which, Dean knows, was not that fast, but that's another tale for another day). He finds himself in Wyoming, sitting on the back of one of the graves in the old cowboy boneyard, facing the Devil's Gate.

* * *

"What the hell?" he wonders. It's been so long since he's dreamed. A year, to be exact. Ever since he got the Mark. It had dissolved when the blade broke, but he still felt the pain. The isolation. And he still didn't dream.

A voice broke into his thoughts, "Hi there, Dean."

Immediately, Dean's hand fell to his gun, which he found to be missing. "Azazel," he spit, standing and turning to face the yellow-eyed demon.

"Bingo," the monster jokes.

They stand in tense silence for a moment, until Dean interrupts it. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Now why would I tell you that?" Azazel says, rolling his eyes. "I can't just give away the ending. That'd be no fun."

His words sounded eerily similar to Metatron's. "I will tell you one thing, however. You all have no idea what's in store."

"We know it involves fire," Dean says.

Azazel snorts. "When _doesn't_ it involve fire for you Winchesters?"

Dean blows air out of his nose, huffing angrily at the reference. "We know it involves ghosts."

"Ooh," Azazel says sarcastically. "Shocker."

Dean frowns.

"Well you vanquished my demon army. What do you want me to do, use _angels_ as my servants? Like they'd do any good. This… this is more personal," he says.

"We know it involves Rosie."

Azazel smiles. "Yes, my special child. My chosen leader. She's the last one left, you know. Last of ol' yellow-eyes' army."

"What about Sam?" Dean asks.

Azazel chuckles. "Sam? Sam's off the field, his jersey's been retired. He is no longer an option."

"Why not?" Dean asks, a sudden concern for his brother bubbling in his throat.

"What did I say to you eight years ago, Dean? 'Are you sure what you brought back is 100 percent, pure Sam?'"

With that, Azazel chuckles again, and Dean's mind goes blank.


End file.
